No. She could not think like that. Could not allow herself to consider the possibility. Because if she let herself hope, and that hope was proven false, it would destroy her. It would be worse than anything she had imagined, worse than his pity or his amusement. It would be the death of something essential in her, something that had kept her going through six years of silent longing.
Better to believe he had not read the letters. Better to believe her secrets were safe. Better to go on as she always had, hiding her heart behind a mask of composure and wit.
It was cowardly. She knew it was cowardly. But she was not brave enough for anything else.
***
That night, for the first time in days, Vanessa sat down at her writing desk.
The empty writing box sat before her, a mocking reminder of everything she had lost. But beside it lay fresh paper, a new pen, a pot of ink that gleamed darkly in the candlelight.
She should not write. She knew she should not. The last batch of letters had nearly destroyed her, she should learn from her mistakes, should find some other way to process her feelings that did not involve committing them to paper.
And yet.
The quill was in her hand before she could stop herself. The nib touched the page. And the words came, as they always did, pouring out of her like water from a broken dam.
Dear Martin…
Chapter Six
"The pearls or the garnets?"
Vanessa held up both necklaces, examining them in the mirror with far more intensity than the decision warranted. The pearls were elegant, understated and appropriate for a family dinner. The garnets were bolder and much deeper, the kind of jewelry that made a statement.
"The pearls," her mother said from the doorway. "The garnets are too dramatic for an intimate gathering. We do not want to appear as though we are trying too hard."
We are trying too hard,Vanessa thought.Or at least, you are trying too hard on my behalf.
But she clasped the pearls around her neck nonetheless, because arguing with Lady Wayworth about jewelry was a battle no one had ever won.
"Lord Deane will be seated to your right at dinner," her mother continued, sweeping into the room to inspect Vanessa's appearance with a critical eye. "I have arranged it specifically. You will have ample opportunity for conversation."
"How thoughtful."
"Do not take that tone with me, Vanessa. I am trying to help you." Lady Wayworth adjusted a curl that had dared to fall out of place, her fingers precise and practiced. "Lord Deane is an excellent prospect. Kind, wealthy, well-connected. He would make a fine husband."
"So you have mentioned. Several times. Daily, in fact."
"Because you seem determined to ignore perfectly good advice." Her mother stepped back, surveying the final result with something approaching satisfaction. "There. You look lovely. Not too lovely, we do not want to seem desperate, but lovely enough to remind Lord Deane why he is pursuing you."
"What a ringing endorsement of my charms."
"Your charms speak for themselves. I am merely ensuring they are properly displayed." Lady Wayworth smoothed an invisible wrinkle from Vanessa's sleeve. "Now. The Duke of Montehood will also be attending. I am fully aware that you find him irritating…"
"I do not find him…"
"…but he is Edward's closest friend and a duke besides. We must maintain cordial relations. So please, for one evening, try not to antagonise him."
Vanessa bit back the response that sprang to her lips. If only her mother knew that antagonising Martin was the least of her concerns. That she had spent the past week in a state of barely controlled panic, convinced that her deepest secrets had been exposed. That she had only just begun to breathe again, reassured by Martin's completely normal behavior that her prayers had been answered and the letters remained unread.
"I shall be the very model of politeness," she promised.
"See that you are." Her mother swept toward the door, then paused. "Oh…and do try to be pleasant to Miss Crawford. I believe Edward is rather taken with her, though he has not said anything directly. It would not hurt to encourage the connection."
"Helena is my dearest friend. I hardly need to be told to be pleasant to her."
"One can never be too careful in matters of family alliances."
